


The First Time

by RebeccaStevenTaylor



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Fluff, M/M, Oysters, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 17:11:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20531588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebeccaStevenTaylor/pseuds/RebeccaStevenTaylor
Summary: Rome is the first time Aziraphale and Crowley eat together. It's the first time for a lot of things, for Crowley, somehow dimly aware of what his future with Aziraphale will be





	The First Time

Angels live in the here and now, unable to see the consequences of their actions. Demons, however, live for consequences so they have developed a certain sensitivity for time. They have slight control over it, can speed it up, slow it down. There are even rumours they can stop it completely in a moment of utter desperation. They can see the echoes of their action echoing through time, shadows of the future whispering promises to them.

OoOoOoOoOo

‘I’ve never eaten an oyster.’

‘Let me tempt you – oh, thats your job, isn’t it?’

Crowley turned to smile at the flustered angel. Well, this was interesting. What was happening here? He’d been drawn to Aziraphale since the wall, but assumed it was all one way, and now, here he was, inviting him to a meal.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like the angel. He did, so much. He was happy to bump into him every so often – especially since he realised Aziraphale hadn’t mentioned a thing about him to Heaven. But they had never actively set out to spend time together. This was new.

‘Tempt away, Angel.’

It was supposed to sound lasciviously demonic but instead it came out soft. Why had that happened?

_Angel. The first time he called Aziraphale angel. It’s just a label that day. Almost an insult. But somehow he keeps saying it. Oh, not again for decades. And then years and months until every time he sees Aziraphale, he calls him angel. It will stop being an insult. It will become affectionate, gentle even. After a while, it will become accompanied by other words, never spoken. My angel. Mine mine mine. My darling angel._

_But not yet. This is just the first time._

It was a quiet little restaurant tucked away down one of the tiny alleyways. It looked, to be frank, as if it was going to be a brothel. But the doors opened and Petronius himself came forward to greet Aziraphale with pleasure, leading him to a small table in the back, softly lit with candles. Most restaurants in Rome, Aziraphale said to Crowley in an undertone, had their customer lay down on couches, but Aziraphale found that interfered with his digestion, so he sat on a chair at the table here. Crowley, amused by Aziraphale’s fussiness, followed him into the back.

_It’s the first of a million little restaurants tucked away where no-one can find them except Aziraphale, places where they know him, and make his meals just right, and have a little table set just for him. It’s a few centuries before Crowley realises they always set the table for two, and a century more before he realises that he’s the only dinner companion Aziraphale ever has._

_Once in a while, Crowley will find a place. He will be nervous taking Aziraphale there, worried the ambience will be wrong, the food bad. But Aziraphale will walk in and tell him this place is delightful, my dear, and it will become one of the fascinating little restaurants where they know him, and Crowley will glow a little every time they go there._

‘And who is this?’ Petronius asked, gesturing at Crowley. He didn’t seem particularly warm towards the demon, but Crowley was used to that. He knew he had an unsettling aura of wrongness, especially given what he had persuaded Caligula to do that afternoon. Funny though, it didn’t seem to bother the angel, who ought to have been especially sensitive.

‘Oh, this is my fr…acquaintance,’ Aziraphale said, remembering just in time that Crowley had called him ‘an acquaintance’ earlier that afternoon. Crowley grinned disturbingly at Petronius and sat down beside Aziraphale as Petronius hurried to get his famous oysters.

_Acquaintance. Friend. Hereditary enemies. Best friend. Only friend. Loved one. Loved one. And in 2000 years Crowley will run into a bookshop and scream Aziraphale’s name and feel his loss as if someone had torn his soul out – which to be honest, they had. And then all that was left was to cry and drink until the end came. My love. My love. My love._

Crowley swallowed one oyster, made a face, and pushed the plate away.

‘Oh, don’t you like them?’ Aziraphale said, disappointed. ‘I’m sure Petronius can find you something else.’

‘I’m not one for eating, really,’ Crowley said. ‘But you enjoy them. I’ll enjoy your enjoyment.’

Once again, that was supposed to sound demonically tempting, but it came out soft. Gentle, even. Aziraphale frowned, but Crowley held out his plate to him. Aziraphale ate delicately, enjoying every mouthful. Crowley was fascinated. He had never thought to see an angel take such joy in something so human as food. It was almost enchanting to watch Aziraphale close his eyes and sigh in appreciation.

_Years and years of meals. Crowley hardly ever eating, but happy to watch Aziraphale eat. The angel will always ask him what he wants, and Crowley will order, but after a while, he will hand the plate over to Aziraphale._

_After centuries, Aziraphale will ask if he can have Crowley’s meal before he hands it over, and Crowley will always say “of course. I ordered it for you really”. After a few more centuries, Aziraphale will simply lean over and take the food, and Crowley will feel an amused delight that the angel feels so comfortable with him._

_And all the while Crowley watches, first fascinated, and then liking and then loving the way Aziraphale enjoys his human food and his human books and his human life. Crowley is a creature of pain and sorrow, but Aziraphale reminds him what joy is._

_But that is in the future._

Petronius came over and refilled Crowley’s glass (finest Falernian now, at Aziraphale’s insistence) and talked to Aziraphale about the oysters, and the seasoning and all kinds of things that interest Aziraphale. Crowley watched, and smiled occasionally when Aziraphale spoke to him, but mostly looked at how happy the angel was right now. He never thought he’d see happy again. After this afternoon, after the blood, and the horror, he thought he’d only see hate and pain. When Petronius goes back to his kitchen, he’ll find a gold piece there, left by Crowley, a tip for making Aziraphale happy.

_Thousands of waiters and cooks and maids will find a fortune in their pockets in the future, just for making the angel smile. One waiter will be rude, and find a dead rat instead. Years and years of gratitude._

Aziraphale didn’t just eat. He talked to Crowley, not about temptation or Hell or this afternoon, but about the palace and the art and the music, about the people in the streets and the books being written. Crowley listened, and answered, briefly at first, and then more fully, caught up in a conversation with someone who just wanted to chat about normal things, but won’t be thrown if he happens to mention being at the Ark. His opinion mattered to Aziraphale, the angel listened, and agreed, or debated and no-one was in pain and no-one was screaming and no-one cursed him. He felt the peace come creeping over him, memories of harm he has done slipped away, his disgust with himself not gone, but somewhere else, for just a few hours. When Crowley had seen Aziraphale earlier, he had snapped at the angel, deliberately trying to drive him away. I’m a demon, I’m foul, I’m a being of death and destruction and I will taint anything pure and good. I could destroy you! Stay away!

But he hadn’t. The angel stayed, a little shaken, quite nervous, but determined. He wanted Crowley’s company. He wanted to stay, and now he, all unawares, was healing the demon.

_This will always happen. On the days when the pain is too much to bear, Aziraphale will be there, kind and gentle, and talk about anything, and listen, and never once mention what the demon has done. Crowley will relax, and smile, and every so often, laugh. With others, his smile is a sneer, his laugh terrifying, but here, with the angel, he almost feels joy. He **does **feel joy, of a kind he is certain no other demon feels, and he will feel cleansed, and safe and whole._

_It will be centuries before he realises Aziraphale knows what he is doing. Innocently the angel prattled away, until decades away from here and now, he looked at Crowley and saw the pain, then saw it slip away as Aziraphale mangled telling him a dirty joke, and he laughed. After that, Aziraphale will know, somehow, when he hurts, and will be there. He will gently and softly coax the demon out of the darkness that is drowning him, and will never tell what he is doing. Crowley would be ashamed to be so obviously in need of the angel’s healing._

_But Crowley will realise it one day, and there will be an argument (it’s not the first, nor the last, and they’ll make up). He’ll call the angel patronising and interfering and he will storm off. Then he will curl up on the floor of his flat and sob for the kindness of it all those years._

_After that, it will be known but unspoken. The demon will come to the angel to be healed._

The evening wore on, and they got very drunk together, the first time ever.

_So many drunken evenings, but only with another. They were only ones they could ever feel comfortable enough to be that out of control with._

And if drunken Crowley thought that the angel really was rather lovely, and admitted to himself that he adored the angel, and had done since Eden, and he half-wanted to kiss Aziraphale until he swooned and half-wanted to sit at his feet and worship him, he firmly pushed those undemonic thoughts down.

_Not for long. Those thoughts will dominate his heart and soul for millennia._

Aziraphale, making a point about elephants, waved his arm about rather too freely, and spilled wine all over Crowley.

‘Oh, my dear chap, I’m so sorry!’

‘S’not a problem,’ Crowley said, blowing the stain away.

_My dear chap. My dear fellow, for a thousand years or so. Then, little by little, as if he were testing the waters, and waiting to be snapped at not to call Crowley that, “my dear chap” becomes “my dear.” And then, decades later, once Crowley absolutely seems to accept that term of endearment, just dear. Once or twice, near the end, when they are very drunk, dearest. And once, three days before the end of the world, Crowley will fall asleep – as he often does – on the sofa. Aziraphale will cover him with a blanket and Crowley will think he hears him whisper “my darling”. Crowley will hug that whisper to himself in the days to come. Striding away from a bandstand, driving away from a shop, running into the flames, hurrying to the end of the world where Aziraphale, in some form, waits for him, he will remember the whispered “my darling”, and hope._

They left very late, walking through the streets of Rome, never quite empty, but not dangerous for them.

‘I’m sorry you didn’t like the oysters,’ Aziraphale said.

‘I’m just not the seafood type.’

‘Maybe next time we can try a different kind of restaurant?’

Aziraphale looked up shyly, blue eyes wide, asking, almost pleading. He didn't want to just walk away. He wanted another evening with Crowley and another and another. Who can say no to that look?

_He never will. Aziraphale never even has to say the words. He’ll look up, and after a few years of this, he’ll know that Crowley will oblige. Whatever the angel wants, he gets. Crowley will sigh about it, but he loves it. His demanding little angel, tempting the demon into doing his will. It’s so delicious that Crowley almost laughs, waiting for the day when the angel will ask him to do more than clean his jacket or break his chains. Waiting for the day when the question is “will you love me?”_

‘Yes, ‘Crowley said. ‘That sounds good. I think I know a place.’

And Aziraphale smiled at him, and whatever walls Crowley had left against the angel crumbled to dust. Aziraphale looked at him like he is the sun and the stars. Crowley would do anything, destroy entire worlds and build them up again so the angel will look at him like that. Will anyone else ever smile at him like that? Unafraid, shining? Probably not. It doesn’t matter. The angel’s light is more than enough for Crowley.

_That is the very first time. The first meal, the first endearment, the first flush of something. In his mind, Crowley, a demon who knows time, can see it all unwind in front of him. There will be pain, and despair, but there will also be Azriaphale’s smile just for him, and joy to chase away the dark, and endless afternoons with each other and a love growing and entwining and binding the two of them together, right until the end of the world. And tonight was the first night of their life together._


End file.
